Wild Embrace

Chapter 38

Love is a circle that doth restless move

In the same sweet eternity of love.

—HERRICK

It was another autumn. Oaks that had glowed like hot coals only two weeks before, now delivered up brown leaves to a chill wind. Sycamores already raised bare, white arms in surrender to winter’s advance. The geese had flown toward warmer climes, the frogs had buried themselves two feet in mud, and the animals of the forest had thicker fur.

The sun hung coldly in a western sky that was streaked with long, uncertain bands of red, and the dry, rich scent of the fallen leaves was almost painful in its sweetness. Lakes gleamed like hand mirrors, reflecting the gold of drooping willows.

Her three-month-old son in his little guyoo, or cradle basket, on the ground beside her, Elizabeth was on a food-gathering trip. Wrapped in a warm fur coat, she was digging roots and acorns in the oak groves. When she returned home, she would soak and hull the acorns, and grind them to meal in a shallow stone mortar, leaching the bitter tannin out of the meal. Then she would cook it into a nourishing gruel.

Fortunately, the salmon catch had been good again this fall, and there was plenty to eat. To supplement the fish the men had caught, the women had dug clams and collected shellfish from the shallow waters.

Elizabeth had already gone by swift canoe to the inlets of the Sound, gathering shellfish, and using a sturdy stick to dig the clams out of the sand. She learned that even the shells were used, either as spoons for soup or to make knives. When ground to a sharp point, they were almost as sharp as the steel knives she’d used in what seemed like different lifetime.

On another journey, she had gone with other women to the prairies and mountain slopes and picked berries while their men had hunted.

Today her mind was not on her digging, or on the long winter ahead. It was on Maysie. A runner had carried the news to her and Strong Heart that Maysie was having trouble with the birthing of her first child, and may even lose it. It had been almost a week now since Elizabeth had heard anything else, and she was tempted to beg Strong Heart to take her north to see to Maysie herself.

For the sake of her own child, she set this thought aside. She had to think of her son’s welfare first and foremost. She had been lucky with her own birthing. Her son had even come a month early, and was no less strong because of it.

“My woman works too hard today,” Strong Heart suddenly said from behind her. He came to her and placed a hand at her elbow, urging her to her feet. “Come. Let us return home. Let us sit and watch our son as he grows.”

Elizabeth laughed softly, loving how Strong Heart was so proud of his son. “Ah-hah, yes, let’s go and watch our son grow,” she said, lifting the heavy basket of roots up from the ground, proud of her work today.

She waited as Strong Heart went and picked up the guyoo. It had been brightly painted by him before the child’s birth. When he very gently drew back a corner of the blanket, to peer down into his son’s face, Elizabeth saw the pride in his eyes, and her thoughts went back to the day that their son had been born to them.

Elizabeth had been lying there for hours, struggling with her labor. Just before the final shove that had brought their son into the world, a red-tailed hawk had somehow managed to get into their longhouse, squawking desperately and flapping its great wings.

Strong Heart had managed to catch the hawk within the folds of a blanket and carry it outside to freedom.

Moments later their child’s first cries filled the air, and their son was quickly given the name Red Hawk, for the bird that had come into their house as an omen.

“He is quite beautiful, isn’t he?” Elizabeth asked, falling into step beside Strong Heart as they walked through the forest toward the village.

“A man or a boy is not beautiful,” Strong Heart said, yet smiling at Elizabeth. “He is handsome. Is he not?”

“Ah-hah, handsome,” Elizabeth said, humoring him. “Of course he would be, for you are his father.”

Strong Heart did not have a chance to reply. In the distance a horseman was fast approaching them. Strong Heart quickly handed the guyoo to Elizabeth and reached for the knife at his waist. Then he relaxed his fingers and dropped his hand away from the weapon as he recognized the brave on the horse. It was Pale Squirrel, the cryer coming from Four Winds’s village again.

Elizabeth grabbed Strong Heart’s arm. “I hope the news is good,” she murmured.

Pale Squirrel halted before them and raised a hand in greeting, his face wide with a grin. “A child was born to Four Winds and Maysie five sleeps ago,” he proudly announced.

Elizabeth and Strong Heart felt a great relief flow through them, and then they asked whether the child was a son or a daughter.

“A son was born to them, his chosen name—Strong Winds—a name that is taken from the special friendship between Four Winds and Strong Heart,” Pale Squirrel said, his eyes shining as he looked at Strong Heart. “Do you approve, Strong Heart?”

“You take word back to Four Winds that Strong Heart accepts this honor with a warm and thankful heart,” Strong Heart said feelingly.

“Ah-hah,” Pale Squirrel said, nodding.

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“Before you leave on the long journey north again, come to our house and celebrate the birth of our friends’ son with us,” Elizabeth said, smiling up at Pale Squirrel.